


Never Forget

by railise



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/railise/pseuds/railise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and flash fics centered around the outlaws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's thoughts on the gang's first ambush.

Robin had done many things throughout his life, some of them morally questionable even before he left for war. He had defied the rules on numerous occasions, placing himself in line for punishment if he were to get caught.

Occasionally, he was. He had dealt with punishments before.

But this was a whole new level of daring. It lacked the serious overtones of battle, although the stakes were nearly the same. However, he had presented the whole thing as a lark of sorts, and if he did not uphold that manner, it was sure to fail.

Grinning at his comrades with a confidence he did not feel, he nodded and jumped down in front of the cart, his heart hammering in his chest. Aiming his bow calmed him, and he managed to call, "This is an ambush!" in such a carefree way that he almost believed it, himself.


	2. For Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much remembers his brother.

Much remembered his brother, although he never spoke of him.

He had often been left in charge of Michael while their parents worked the mill. He was quite young to be watching a child barely out of infancy; yet, he felt that he had found his purpose, and cared for the boy as best he could. Then, the sickness came through, and stole them all away within days of each other; nobody knew how it spared Much. Devastated, he mourned his parents-- but took it as a personal failure that Michael succumbed. He'd thought he'd known what he was meant for; apparently, he was wrong. Perhaps, he had no purpose.

When the Earl of Huntingdon took on Much to look after his heir, it seemed as though he was being given a second chance. Not that his new master could ever replace his brother, but if he could just keep Robin safe, then maybe he had meaning, after all.

Over the years, he came to be aware of who he was, and that he was more than just a servant. He understood and appreciated that he had purpose and needs unto himself. He knew that Michael's death was not his fault. He forgot his father's voice, his mother's scent.

However, he remembered Michael's bright, blue gaze.

So, when Little John took him aside one day and asked why he stayed with Robin when his former lord so often took him for granted, Much thought of his brother. Caring for Robin was not his reason for being, but he enjoyed doing it. And when Robin put on freshly-washed clothing, or enjoyed a good meal, Much somehow felt that Michael was with him. He knew it was silly, which was why he never mentioned it.

Still, on those nights when Robin went to bed content because of what he had done, Much would close his eyes and see his brother's smile, and any hurts or disappointments of the day melted away.

He did it for Michael.


	3. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan is remembered fondly.

She had always known that Allan A Dale would make something of himself.

Even when her mother childed her that she was wasting her time, trying to keep that boy out of the noose, she knew that Mum was wrong. And she told him so, told him that she believed in him. She believed he could make something of himself, do something worthwhile.

Perhaps, he did not care what the neighbor girl thought. Possibly, he and Tom laughed at her; she always made sure to steer clear of that other boy, though. At least, if Allan was ridiculing her, it was behind her back. Tom was liable to do it to her face, and that was one of the many reasons she had no such hope for him.

Years later, when the stories reached her, she felt a swelling of pride. Most of it was because he was doing something important.

But a little of it was because she hoped that, just maybe, he had taken her belief to heart.


	4. Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang is unimpressed with Djaq's explanation as to where she has been.

When Djaq finally arrived at camp, three hours after she was supposed to be back, she was immediately set upon by the others.

"Where have you been?" Will demanded.

"We've been worried sick!" Much declared.

Little John gave her a nod and a "what they're saying" shrug.

Startled at their intensity, Djaq hesitated before replying, "I... There was a mother, giving birth--" She was cut off by a collective sound of disgust.

"That's not funny," snapped Much.

Disappointment shone in Will's eyes. "If you don't want to tell us where you were, just say so."

"Yeah, if you're gonna give an excuse, at least make up your own," Allan muttered.

After they had all gone back to what they had been doing before her arrival, Robin came over. "If there's anything wrong, I hope you will let me know." With a friendly pat on her shoulder, he resumed his seat.

Speechless, she glanced around at her friends, but they were all studiously ignoring her. With a shake of her head, Djaq retrieved a clean set of clothing and made her way to the stream to wash up.

How was it that men could be so obvious, and yet so oblivious?


	5. The Weaver's Granddaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate wants a different life. Pre-S3.

Kate hated pottery.

She hated the texture of the clay, the heat of the kiln, the smell of the glazes. She hated the entire process of making the stupid things, and she hated her mother for being so determined to carry on with it after her father passed away. Rebecca had never liked pottery, either, learning the trade out of practicality and love for her husband. Her own father had been a weaver, which appealed to Kate far more than shaping pot after bloody pot. It showed, too, that neither one of them enjoyed what they did; Rebecca got more difficult to live with as each year passed, and the same held true for Kate.

Matthew, on the other hand, loved it. He could be found in the workshop well into the evenings, using the last smidgen of daylight to finish a project, and was the first one out the door in the mornings, sometimes just after sunrise. It was probably a good thing that one of them was so happy to be there, since he could often buoy the women's spirits; however, there were plenty of days when it was all Kate could do not to dump a lump of clay on his head.

But, everyone had their lot, and unless and until it was possible to explore another way of making a living, they were making pots. With a heavy sigh, Kate painted a thick, blue stripe onto a pot. She wanted to daydream about something else she could be doing, but was not even sure what to imagine. If she were willing to get married, she could easily get out of this blasted workshop; however, that thought was not remotely appealing. A husband would want her to be obedient, or at least occasionally acquiescent, and she simply could not see herself taking to that well.

Impatiently, she slapped a bit of red glaze on the next pot.

She would just have to figure out what she wanted, and forge her own way. Anything would be better than this.


End file.
